


SECOND CHANCES

by Anne_Fairchild



Category: Red Cap (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt happens offstage, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, No explicit descriptions of torture only referenced, Psychological Angst, no graphic depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 09:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16083611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne_Fairchild/pseuds/Anne_Fairchild
Summary: Lt Giles Vicary goes undercover in an important arms sale and smuggling case, but he is unexpectedly fingered at a crucial point and interrogated/tortured for information. Going through days of pain and doubt in the aftermath, he has trouble believing he’s any kind of hero, or even a survivor.





	SECOND CHANCES

Giles wondered whether they would find him before the air ran out. All things considered, it was beginning to matter less than it had several hours ago. He was past hunger or thirst. His entire body screamed with pain. And Cpl Williams’ body was more than beginning to smell. He couldn’t move at this point, his joints were all frozen. If he heard anyone looking for him, his throat was so dry he wasn’t sure he could make a sound. Add to that he felt like a failure for having been sussed out in the first place. In another hour he’d have so little air nothing would bother him any longer. Half an hour after that, he would cease to bother anyone.

He did want to know, though, whether any part of the operation had been a success; whether he’d had even a small, bumbling effect on keeping the arms and munitions shipment from going through. He really hoped so; if he died for nothing, his family’s memory - his father’s memory - of him would always be that he’d tried and failed yet again.

He let his mind drift, back to his childhood. Back to the days when there ought to have been fewer expectations and he could just be a boy. He supposed he was happier then, but he couldn’t really remember a time when his father didn’t have expectations of him. Not ‘clean up your room’ expectations, but the ‘better than the rest’ kind. The trouble was, Giles had never been and most likely would never be better than everyone at anything. He was pretty good at lots of things and very good at a few things, but he’d never made ‘best.’ He was content being useful, a valued part of a team, but he doubted his father was satisfied with that for him.

He felt he’d learned a lot in SIB, both about the nuts and bolts and about working relationships. He thought he was becoming somewhat more valuable, until this. He’d been in good, he thought, fooling them right along. Then just when it really mattered, it seemed they were on to him all of a sudden - or had they been all along? He didn’t know. All he could do then was try to give Roper and the rest of the team as much time as he possibly could and hope it was enough. At least, to add to his ‘work experience’, he now knew what torture was like, and that he could handle more abuse than he would have thought. Strange that he felt worse about letting his team down than about letting his father down…again.

He wasn’t sure how long he drifted in and out of consciousness. A loud THUMP over his head roused him, dirt raining down, making him cough. The air was so thin now he couldn’t really catch his breath.

“I heard something!” A voice shouted overhead. There was the crack of rotting wood above him, and then a shaft of bright sunlight. Giles flinched when someone jumped down beside him with a torch, scanning the bunker. They swore, kneeling over Williams’s body.

“Jesus!” It was Roper’s voice. The torch came in his direction and he closed his eyes. Gentle hands turned him over.

“God,” Roper breathed. “Mr Vicary - can you hear me?” Giles felt Roper’s fingers on his carotid. He couldn’t speak, but he did cough. Roper straightened and shouted.

“He’s alive, but not by much. We’ve got to get him to a hospital. I need some oxygen _now_ while we figure out how to get him out of here. And better call the coroner while you’re at it - Williams’s body is down here.”

Roper caught something, and in a moment was putting a mask over Giles’s face.

“Air, Mr Vicary. Breathe,” Roper encouraged him. He took in an experimental lungful and gasped at the searing pain which gripped his chest. He gave a strangled sound of anguish. Roper put a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Shallow breaths. I know you want more air, but just do shallow breaths. We’ll get you to hospital as quick as we can.” Roper probed him gently for major broken bones.

“Arms and legs seem okay, but I wouldn’t bet on his ribs. I’m not taking any chances. He needs to be strapped to a stretcher and pulled out. Throw me down some water.”

Roper slowly straighten his limbs. Giles tried very hard not to cry out but didn’t quite succeed. Roper held the bottle of water to his lips and he drank thirstily. The torch played over his face.

“Sweet Jesus, they did a number on you,” Roper groaned.

Giles didn’t have the strength to say anything. The stretcher was lowered down, and Roper carefully moved him onto it. Giles gritted his teeth against the pain. There was nothing but pain with any movement. It had nearly worn him down to helplessness, the one thing he was determined not to show.

“How is he?” It was Bruce Hornsby’s voice.

“Like shite,” Roper called back. “He needs a hospital.” He snugged the securing straps tightly, and when he was satisfied they would hold, he secured the ropes.

“Okay, ready. Slow and easy.”

Once the stretcher was vertical, Giles kept his eyes closed until the stretcher was set down. He felt fresh air now, but he also felt dizzy and sick.

“We’re too far out to wait for a city ambulance. By the time they got here we could have him to hospital. Hippie, is there an emergency kit in the truck, and does it have a bag of IV solution?” Sar’ Hornsby’s voice.

“Yes and yes,” Roper answered.

“Good. Put him in the truck. I can start an IV. He’s in shock and dehydrated. Every minute counts right now.”

Giles felt the stretcher being lifted up again, and then he was laid flat in the bed of a covered truck. Someone loosened the straps and he let out a groan of relief. The truck rocked with the addition of more bodies.

“My God! Why would anyone _do_ that?” Staff Frost gasped.

“Because they get to like doing it,” Roper growled.

Giles felt the coolness of alcohol swabs on his arm, and a sharp prick. In a moment, a satisfied “got it!” and someone was taping his arm.

He felt a cool wetness on his face. It stung like hell, but it felt good too. Someone lifted his head and put something soft beneath it, and a wet cloth around his neck.

“Bloody bastards! Must hurt like a sonofabitch.” Hornsby.

“It does,” Roper told him. Someone took his hand in theirs and held it.

“Mr Vicary - are you with us?”

He didn’t want to open his eyes and acknowledge he was conscious. He felt entirely too fragile for that. But they were his teammates and worried about him. He blinked his eyes open. Roper, Hornsby and Frost were ringed around his field of vision.

“Still…here.” He didn’t recognize the hoarse whisper of his own voice.

“Getting you to hospital now, sir. Staff, can you drive?” Hornsby asked.

“Of course. Right away,” Frost agreed, sounding shaken. She jumped out of the back and in a moment the engine rumbled to life and the truck started to move onto the road.

Hornsby sat up against the edge of the stretcher and motioned Roper to do the same. “Less movement,” he explained.

“More water?” Roper asked. Giles mouthed ‘yes’. When he went to retrieve it, Giles realized it had been Roper holding his hand - and after he’d drunk more water, Roper took his hand again, squeezing it lightly.

“Mr Vicary - sir - you need to know this. We got them. We got them all, and the shipment didn’t go through. It wasn’t for nothing, it worked. It worked,” he repeated. “Do you hear me?” he asked softly.

“ ‘es,” Giles whispered.

“You didn’t slip up, it was nothing like that. Kempson was theirs, and he fingered you when we let him slip through our bloody fingers. Jesus, it was _us_ who landed you in this mess sir, not anything you did. It’s the truth,” Roper insisted. “It was nothing you did or didn’t do.”

“Hippie - ?” Hornsby’s voice, puzzled.

“We’ve worked together for nine months. I know how he thinks. He’s going to assume it was something he missed, something he didn’t see, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t. And it was our fault. My fault,” Roper groaned. “He needs to know that now. Life can be shorter than you ever expect, especially when something like this happens. You need to keep the fight in you, or you could slip away.”

“Right,” was all Hornsby could say, not wanting to go where the thoughts obviously led. It was strange that Roper was taking the blame onto himself when it had been Frost who’d released Kempson. Still - by the look on her face and the sound of her voice, Hornsby thought just maybe she was starting to feel bad enough as it was - and Roper was feeling responsible for whatever had happened to his less experienced teammate.

“If you think what you can see now is all they did to him…all the injuries he has - “ Roper stopped. “Well, you’d be wrong. They thought they’d hurt him enough to kill him. They left him for dead down there, you know - to die like a rat in a hole, like Williams. But if that doesn’t happen, they want you dead inside - so dead you give up. So afraid you live with the memory of the terror forever. That’s not going to happen to him if I can help it.”

Giles was surprised at the pain in Roper’s voice. Of course he was speaking from experience, he had to be. Even half-conscious, Giles knew that even if he knew nothing more about it. Roper had been through this - he knew what it was like. Giles was, as Roper intended, comforted by that knowledge.

He kept his eyes closed, determined to endure without further complaint. Someone put a blanket over him when he started to shiver. He had little control; his body was short circuiting on him. It was frightening, frustrating and embarrassing, in no particular order.

“Almost there, Mr Vicary. Almost there.” Roper tried to soothe him, squeezing his hand again.

One reason Giles was sure Roper had been through this, beside what he’d said, was that he hadn’t touched him anywhere but his head or his hands. He knew that touching or grabbing him almost anywhere else would be bound to hurt.

The truck braked somewhat abruptly. Hornsby looked out the front and saw they’d arrived at the A&E. They were coming out with a medical trolley, so he assumed that Staff Frost had called ahead to let them know about Mr Vicary.

Suddenly Giles was torn away from his colleagues and plunged into the somewhat frantic, invasive atmosphere of the A&E. As they took him through the doors, he faintly heard Sgt Roper trying to explain the source of his injuries. They cut off his clothes and took him to Radiology, where he spent an agonizing hour while they tried to get an idea of his non-visible injuries. He was then taken back to A&E, and at last given intravenous meds for pain and anxiety. He heard one of the doctors say something about making sure he was out before they started in to treat the cuts, bruises, burns and other abuses that covered his body.

He woke for a few minutes when they were putting him in a room; at least, he thought it was a room, although the walls seemed to be glass and there was no door, only a curtain. He thought, a bit fretfully, that the noise and bustle were sure to keep him awake - something he very much did not want to be. But once he was settled they adjusted his IV and he fell deeply, blissfully unconscious.

                                                                            ***

Giles was awakened by a thousand angry bees which hummed just under his skin, stinging and trying to burst out - wave after wave of them. He opened his eyes to feel them on his face, his chest and back - everywhere. There were so many bees, they kept him from breathing properly. He must have cried out, because a doctor looked up from his charts and came into the room.

“Mr Vicary. Good to see you awake, although I doubt you’d agree just now. You have a considerable number of wounds that will be painful for some time as they heal. Your nose was broken, and has been operated on. You have three cracked ribs, and a bruised spleen and kidneys, so I’m afraid breathing isn’t going to be very comfortable either, and you might feel rather sick to your stomach. This is the rough bit for a week or so, before you’ll start to feel more human again. We’ll keep you as comfortable as we can, but it’s going to be rather nasty even so, I’m afraid,” the doctor advised, his eyes full of sympathy. “We’ll be moving you, shifting you in the bed to keep your wounds from becoming infected, and that won’t be pleasant, We would normally put you in a brace for your ribs, but in your case, due to your other injuries the compression is contraindicated. I’m sorry.”

Giles concentrated on taking in all the doctor said. Understanding why he hurt so much was one thing, but dealing with it would be another. The pain had been unbearably bad, but he’d thought if he could just make it to the hospital he’d be fine. The realization that the nightmare wasn’t going to end yet was horrific.

“We’ve notified your father, and he’s informed us he hopes to be here with you within the next 24 hours,” the doctor told him, clearly assuming that would make him feel better, not having any idea that it increased Giles’s stress and pain levels tenfold. “If there’s anyone else you feel up to seeing, inform the nurses. Your teammates and your CO are anxious about your welfare, but we don’t want you overwhelmed. We’ll start you on a soft diet later today. I know you won’t feel much like eating, but the healthier you are apart from your injuries, the better you’ll respond to treatment.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Giles managed to whisper.

His father, coming here, seeing him at his worst and most helpless. Just another example of his weakness, his unfitness for soldiering in his father’s eyes. He remembered what Roper had told him - had insisted he remember - but he didn’t know if it was actually true. Had he held it together long enough to make the mission a success, to prevent loss of life, or had Roper only told him that, or had he exaggerated. He was so used to not quite measuring up to the expectations of others that it was difficult for him to believe he might have actually succeeded in full measure.

As day slid into dusk and he was poked, prodded and turned, fed, and his multiple dressings changed, Giles started to get an idea of what the doctor had been forewarning. They were gentle and careful with him, and they gave him pain medication, but that really only took the edge off of things. It all just hurt, even when he lay as still as he could, taking rapid, shallow breaths so as not to set off the pain in his chest. He dozed off and on throughout the night, able to sleep only when the boluses of morphine kicked in.

He had nothing but dressings over his wounds, they had left off a hospital gown so it wouldn’t stick to the angry, seeping cuts and burns, leaving him wearing only briefs. He shivered with a chill, but at the same time he burned like all his wounds were on fire. He felt awful. Outside his room, they conferred about a fever and he knew it was him they were talking about. What else could happen, he wondered. He would be depressed if he had the strength to be. He also felt vaguely nauseated, which just added to the torture.

Voices at the nursing station woke him. He could see light through a window, so he knew it must be the next day but he had no idea what time it was. He was still feverish, and felt slightly fuzzy and as if he barely had the strength to wiggle his toes. The voices continued, one raised in stress. They came in to do his dressing changes and move him, and he no longer had the will or the strength to hold it in. He cried out, moaned and cursed, but it came out of him sounding like a wounded animal’s howl. He despised himself. The voices outside had stilled.

When they had finished he was lying on his side, sweat dropping off his hair, its salt burning the cuts on his face. The curtain opened, but thinking it was either the doctor or someone else set to torture him further, Giles didn’t move or open his eyes. No one touched him, and he heard no sound for what seemed a long time. Finally, he heard a noise and opened his eyes reluctantly, irritable and restless.

He stared into his father’s face, inches from his own. The Brigadier swallowed hard. He smiled a little, reaching out to touch Giles’s hair. Silent tears tracked down his cheeks, his eyes glistening with more.

“Thank God you’re alive,” he whispered, leaning forward to press his lips to Giles’s forehead. “My son. My sweet boy,” he choked. “Thank God we didn’t lose you.”

“Guess ‘m tougher than I look,” Giles attempted to joke, unsure how to respond to his father’s distress. He’d never seen his father upset in this way, and certainly not over him.

“That’s always been true,” his father smiled through his tears. “But I’m so sorry you were forced into demonstrating it this way.

That took Giles a minute to process. His father admitting he had ‘always’ been tough, or determined, or stubborn or whatever he meant. It sounded like respect.

“You really look like hell, you know that?” his father winced, looking at him.

“Do I? I haven’t seen - “

“Best you don’t for awhile,” the Brigadier sighed. He picked up a flannel that had been left on the bed tray and poured some ice chips into it. He gently passed it over his son’s face and hair, and down his neck. Giles moaned.

“You have a fever they’re working on. Normal, they said, but they also said you’re probably feeling bloody awful. Better?”

“Yes,” Giles whispered. His father continued to bathe his face and neck, and his head dropped lower on the pillow. He heard a faint buzz, and in a moment a nurse popped her head around the curtain.

“Yes sir?”

“Can you put the side of the bed down, between us?”

“Yes, but please alert us if you leave the bedside so we can put it up again. We don’t want Lt Vicary falling out of bed.”

“Of course.”

The bedrail was lowered, and for the first time they could touch. The Brigadier moved his chair up to the bed, his shoulder against the pillow. He continued cooling Giles down.

“Let your head go. Lean on me,” he coaxed. With a sigh, Giles allowed his head to rest on his father’s shoulder. The last time he’d done that, he thought, he’d probably been about seven years old. He let himself draw strength from it, and from the unfolding realization that his father’s view of him might not be what he’d long believed.

Late morning turned to mid afternoon. The Brigadier continued tending gently to his son, who dozed and woke, off and on. By the time the shadows were growing longer, Giles’s fever had nearly broken and he felt slightly better.

“I’m going to leave you, and let them do all the things they need to do, without my interference,” the Brigadier told him. “I’ll be back tomorrow, but I have to leave after that, I’m afraid. I wish I didn’t have to go. I’d like to stay and…help, if I could,” he finished awkwardly.

Giles smiled, and held onto his father’s hand.

“You _came_ , and that’s helped,” he sighed, “a lot. Thanks, Dad.” Robin Vicary stood, squeezed his son’s hand, and kissed him before he left.

Everything still hurt entirely too much, and having tubes running in and out of limbs and orifices was getting very old, but in spite of all that, Giles felt calmer. Later, lying on his side so the wounds on his back were relieved of his weight, a nurse brought in a telephone.

“Your mum,”she told him with a smile, handing him the phone.

“Mum?” he rasped, coughing and reaching for some water to clear his throat.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s so good to hear your voice.” Giles instantly felt himself surrounded by her warmth. His father he loved and respected, but his mother he adored. All his open affection had come from her, all his life.

“I don’t think I sound that great just now.”

“You’re alive to talk to me, and as far as I’m concerned that’s brilliant. Your father rang me. He said I should try calling you. He knows I’ve been completely crazy since I heard you were injured. But he wouldn’t tell me much else. Will you? What happened to you, darling?”

“Well - that’s complicated. And I expect I shouldn’t talk about it yet,” Giles offered. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. His mother tsked.

“You sound exactly like your father,” she sighed. “I have half a mind to get on a plane.”

As much as Giles wanted just that, he knew it would hurt her unnecessarily to see him as he was, judging by his father’s reaction. And there was a feeling, growing inside him, that he really could tough this out, especially as he now knew both his parents would be there for him if he truly needed them. Just being secure in that was more of a boost than he could put into words.

“Best not Mum, really. Wait a bit, maybe a month,” he suggested, holding his breath. Part of him wanted her to come.

“A _month_? Oh Giles, what’s happened to you, that both your father and you are doing your best to keep me away? No, I don’t expect an answer, but - I am your mother, I’ll worry about you no matter what you or your father say. You will call me, when you feel up to it?” She sounded sad and frightened.

“Of course. I miss you. I love you Mum. And I’ll be all right, really,” he assured her.

“I love you, darling boy. Kisses,” she told him.

“Kisses back,” he whispered past the lump in his throat. He really, really wanted one just now, but he was no longer a child.

When Giles woke the next morning, his fever was gone as well as his muzzy head. In another day or so, he could be moved out of Intensive Care if his vital signs and blood work remained stable. The downside to being more aware was that the pain was up front again, and the nausea. He longed for the day when he could take a deep breath and fill his lungs with air and not feel like he’d just been run through with a sword. They gave him medication for the nausea, which helped some.

His father came after lunch. He seemed uncomfortable, and Giles began to wonder what about, feeling anxious again. After ensuring that Giles was no worse and was a bit better than the day before, the Brigadier sat in silence for a moment, looking at him with uncertainty in his eyes.

“Giles - I’m very much afraid that by being blind and selfish, I’ve put a terrible burden on you and may have ruined any chance of us having the relationship I want us to have,” he began.

“It’s all right, Dad,” Giles began, because it was what he should say; what he’d always said.

“No, really, it’s not. But I hope it will be in future,” the Brigadier sighed sadly. “You’d best let me have my say, and not try to make me feel better, will you?” This time, Giles only nodded.

“Most of my generation, and the generations before mine, learned how to be parents by example and tradition. If our parents or our grandparents made mistakes, we often repeated them. And we treated every child the same, not allowing for differences. That wasn’t the way it should have been, but it’s the way it was,” Giles’s father explained.

“We had no right to plan our children’s future, their lives, without regard to their wishes, but we did it anyway, because we were certain we knew best. I went into the Guards because your grandfather wanted me to. Fortunately, the Army suited me - and when the time came I saw no reason it shouldn’t suit you as well. Children were clay to be molded and all that. I didn’t listen to you. I paid no attention to what you wanted or whether your aptitudes might lie in another direction.

“I made you afraid to be honest with me, and I hurt you. I put a distance between us I never intended. I couldn’t allow myself to be proud of your stubbornness, and your choices, because that would mean I was wrong. And I’ve been so wrong,” Vicary sighed, shaking his head, gazing sadly at Giles.

“It was your mother who eventually knocked some sense into me, who forced me to see. We actually separated over the way I dealt with you and your brother and sister. She couldn’t bear to watch you be hurt any more and she didn’t want me around Joss and Nella when they were young, to hurt them. It was difficult for her to make that choice. Giles, we still love each other - it’s why we’ve never divorced. It’s taken a great effort on her part, but your mother is a formidable woman,” the Brigadier smiled.

“I know,” Giles smiled in return. “She called me last night and for a few minutes I was afraid she’d be on a plane today. And if she was, I wouldn’t really mind,” he added wistfully.

“That is something she asked me to speak to you about,” his father admitted. “When you’re ready to be discharged, until you’re fit for duty we’d like you to come home, to stay with your mother. There won’t be anyone to look after you here, and it’ll be harder on you than need be, on your own.”

Giles sighed. “There’s a part of me that would like nothing more, honestly. But - I’m part of a team now. I’ve only just started to prove myself, to gain a little respect. I don’t want to walk out of that, back to being the ‘Mister’ among the Sars. I need to stay here like any of them would. They’re another family I have to think about now. Do you understand?” he asked. His father nodded.

“That’s something I definitely understand, and I think your mother will too, whatever her feelings on Army tradition. As long as you know you can change your mind.”

“Thanks, Dad. And I might not be completely on my own. Staff Roper, who’s been my partner of sorts the past few months - he’s been through…something similar I think. In Northern Ireland. So, he might…I think I could call on him,” Giles offered, not sure whether it was true.

“Curly-haired fellow, rather brooding, sort of intense?” his father asked.

Giles smiled. “That’s a fair description,” he agreed.

“I’ve been to your unit, to speak to Captain Howard, Sar’ Major Burns and Staff Roper. I wanted to know precisely what went down. I was impressed with Roper’s concern for you,” the Brigadier told him. “All of your colleagues are anxious to see you when you’re up to it. If you want a support system here, I think you’ll have it.” Giles relaxed a little.

“Dad. I know it was difficult for you to say what you did. I appreciate it,” he acknowledged softly.

“It’s been entirely too long in coming. I hope we can start again, and I can reacquaint myself with my son, whom I’m told by those who know and love him is smart, clever, kind, loving, gentle, funny and ‘the best brother ever.’ ‘Stubborn’ I already knew,” his father teased.

“Do you really have to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning at 0730.”

“Tell Joss and Gemma I miss them.”

“I will,” his father assured him.

“Can you…will you stay awhile, please?” Giles asked shyly.

“Nothing would make me happier,” the Brigadier assured him, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. Giles wanted very much to feel his father’s arms around him, but that just couldn’t happen right now. Still, the idea that it might happen some day made him happy.

They sat and talked until the staff needed to move and bathe him, and when his tray was brought his father helped him eat, though he had to force food down as he still felt sick. He was trying not to fall asleep.

“Giles, you need to rest. I’ll sit with you until you nod off, and then I’ll go. If you need me or your mother we’re only a phone call, a text or an email away, you know that, right?”

“Yes,” Giles agreed sadly. He felt like a selfish, clingy toddler, but he didn’t care. He had his father back. “Dad - I love you,” he told his father solemnly. “I never stopped, you know.”

Tears suddenly welled in the Brigadier’s eyes. “I never stopped loving you either,” he assured Giles. “Now, go to sleep.” Giles nodded, and within minutes his eyes drifted shut.

The next day, he was moved to a private room. Some of the invasive tubing was removed so he was a little more comfortable, and his diet was advanced to more appetizing selections. He was slightly less nauseated as well. The nausea, the doctor told him, was due to his bruised kidneys and spleen. They were keeping a close watch on his body fluids, checking for larger amounts of blood which would indicate hemorrhage. So far the blood they were seeing fit with his injuries but wasn’t indicative of something more serious.

He would have to begin sitting up in a chair in a few days, which he did not look forward to. His wounds were still red and swollen and they burned, but some of the bees had left him, and those remaining were slightly less angry than they had been.. He wasn’t comfortable, but he wasn’t as miserable as his first day either. He let the nursing staff know that if anyone from SIB called asking if he could have visitors, they could come.

Two days later, Sar’ Major Burns came to see him. He too seemed shocked at the extent of Giles’s injuries, and somewhat at a loss for words. But he repeated what Roper had told him - it was not anything he had failed at that had led to his discovery by the arms dealer - and he had certainly prevented the probable death in ambush of his colleagues, not to mention the soldiers in the convoy who would have lost their lives along with them. There might be, Burns told him, an official commendation. That was a complete surprise. He wondered if his father knew; he wondered if he really deserved it. He was only doing what he’d been training to do. He asked for his phone, and Burns said he’d have someone get it from his flat.

Roper came the following day, not long after they’d got him into a chair. His ribs and kidneys were painful and his dressings stuck to the chair. As uncomfortable as he was, he welcomed anything to help get his mind off the ordeal.

Roper handed Giles his phone and charger.

“How are you doing?” he asked quietly.

“My first day out of bed,” Giles told him. “Not great.”

“Ow.” Roper winced in sympathy. “Don’t let them leave you too long.”

“What you told me, on the way here - was that true, or were you just covering my arse?” Giles asked him. Roper looked him in the eye.

“Every word true. The Army doesn’t like statements that can’t be verified. I just wish - “

“Every possibility can’t be foreseen,” Giles told him quietly.

“No sir, they can’t. Something to remember.” Giles knew Roper was referring to his tendency to assume he was the cause when things went wrong.

“Touché,” he smiled.

“It’s going to take awhile before you feel better - and even longer before your body really heals. When you get out of here, if you need anything - “

“Actually - when I do get out, my father wanted me to go home to England until I’m fit to return to duty. But I told him I’d rather stay here if I could manage it.”

“I’ll make sure you manage it - sir,” Roper assured him gruffly.

“Only if you’re sure this isn’t out of a feeling of guilt, or obligation,” Giles cautioned.

“No, Mr Vicary. It’s because I want to.”

“Thank you,” Giles acknowledged, secretly relieved. He wouldn’t pretend to understand all that motivated Roper, but he’d never sensed dishonesty in him when it came to their working relationship. He missed Jo McDonough, who had transferred out just before Burns had pretty much paired him with Roper, but Roper was a changed man now that she was gone; back on track and in line to take over for Burns if he was promoted out.

Over the next few days, he was up more, even walking - though it was more hobbling like an aged crone, Giles thought. He was eating, shaving and doing more everyday things as he became less tethered by IVs and catheters. He began to look forward to the visits he received from his teammates. He had a text from Jo that made him smile, and texts from his father, and his brother and sister. He’d called his mother again, though he refused to send her a photo..

Burns came again, quietly concerned, ready to make sure Roper had the time to look after him when he was released. Bruce and Angie came, and his ribs were pretty painful after their visit, as they made him laugh in spite of himself. Once, Staff Frost had come - very quiet, unsure of her welcome or whether he knew it was due to her that Kempson was released to tip off his co-conspirators. Roper hadn’t told him, but his father had.

“She’s very good at her job,” Giles had told the disgusted Brigadier, who’d experienced an earlier taste of Frost’s supercilious sticking to regulations and been unimpressed.

“I’m very good at my job too, but that doesn’t mean I’ve never had personal issues that negatively affected those around me,” his father reminded him.

“But if there’s something…some event that changes you…”

“Point taken. One can only hope,” his father had acknowledged.

She did seem affected by his experience, and what he was going through. She apologized softly and Giles felt sincerely, that it was her error in judgment that had resulted in something so painful for him.

“We can’t know or foresee everything, always,” he’d told her gently as he’d told Roper. “And every error doesn’t result in dramatic mishaps. You weren’t to know what would happen. We’re all only human. We can only do our best.” She stared at him, half admiring and half shocked by his ability to forgive and move on after such an event. She very much doubted that she could do the same, or that Brigadier Vicary would - or Burns, who would love to get her out of his unit.

“You’ll make a far better leader than I ever would,” she’d told him.

A formal debriefing was held in his room. It was difficult and nerve-wracking. He recollected events to the best of his ability, but there were a few gaps in his memory, and he felt as if he were undergoing a cross-examination of some kind, not entirely friendly. It unsettled him.

Other things improved in small increments. They took the large splint off his nose and applied a smaller one. The bees began to subside, as did the nausea. He was actually feeling a bit more human on the whole. Which meant he had more time to mull over how he felt about what had happened; how his captors - his torturers - had made him feel. He was only beginning to process any of that; the debriefing had started it for him. He didn’t really want his mind to go there, but knew he shouldn’t try to ignore it either. They’d offered him psychological counseling in hospital, but he hadn’t wanted to deal with it there. He had a determination to keep such things private, even knowing it could be unhealthy.

Two weeks and three days from the time he’d been brought to the hospital, Giles was discharged home to his flat. Roper drove him, and made sure his fridge was stocked with food. He had orders to continue to rest, and not to drive for another few days. The doctors didn’t want his injured organs to be bounced around, and his ribs still hurt him even at bed rest.

He desperately wanted a shower, but once naked he was forced to stop for for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror. He was literally covered in wounds, some healed, some nearly, and some not. There was still faint bruising across his back and over his ribs and kidneys where he’d been kicked. He had two black eyes that were still obvious, if clearing. His nose was still lightly splinted. It was like something out of a film, but it wasn’t due to make-up, he was still feeling every bit of it. No wonder, he thought, people had been so affected at the mere sight of him.

It felt good to get clean in a way he hadn’t been able to in hospital, but his deeper scabbed, still-healing wounds hurt. He pulled on his oldest, most-washed sweats and enjoyed being in his own place without others observing him and ‘encouraging’ him to do things he really didn’t want to do. He put on some music and just sat and listened. The small bits of normality reassured him.

That night however, for the first time, he dreamed - or rather, had a nightmare - about his torture. He felt it all again - the fear, the humiliation, and the pain. He woke in a cold sweat, his heart racing. Having no desire to attempt further sleep and perhaps slip into the nightmare again, he got up and puttered about the flat aimlessly. This had come at him unexpectedly, when he’d been feeling firmly on the road to recovery. It was, he felt, a bad sign; a sign that he wasn’t going to be able to put the experience behind him as straightforwardly as he’d hoped.

He napped fitfully in the light of day, not allowing himself to sink into any restful sleep. He felt a bit of panic over what he should do…what he could do about it all. This had come just as he’d begun to feel he had some control in his life going forward, leaving old baggage behind. He thought about what Roper had said about his captors. That they want you dead inside - so dead you give up. So afraid you live with the memory of the terror forever. Giles wasn’t dead, but he was frightened, and alone in a way anyone who hadn’t gone through it wouldn’t understand.

He didn’t sleep much that night. He thought of calling either of his parents, but didn’t. There was no point in worrying them over something they couldn’t help. His newly returned appetite had vanished. He actually picked up the phone once to dial the crisis number they’d given him at discharge, but hung up at half dialing.

Roper came in the late afternoon. His presence, solid and pragmatic, calmed Giles a little. He’d brought a brown paper bag that Giles had to admit smelled delicious. Opening the bag made him smile. Roper had asked when he’d brought him home what his guilty pleasure food was, and he’d said a street vendor’s currywurst and chips.

“You look like shite, mate,” he told Giles honestly. “I think you need to eat this, and we need to talk - ?” he asked. Giles could only nod.

Although he had to force himself to begin, he managed to eat all of his food. Roper had known this would be coming, if Giles had not. After Roper had eaten the burger he’d brought and after they had each consumed a couple bottles of the six-pack of beer he’d also brought, they sat on the couch, silence drifting in. It was Giles who broke it.

“I’ve started having dreams,” he began.

“Nightmares?”

“Yes. Reliving it all. Feeling helpless,” Giles muttered.

“Try to think ‘I made it. They didn’t break me. They didn’t win. They wanted me to feel like their victim but I’m not. I beat them after all’,” Roper suggested.

“All I can think is what if I hadn’t held out - the deaths that would have been on my head. Your death, dammit,” Giles groaned, his head in his hands.

“But you did hold out, and we’re fine; I’m fine. It’s you that’s not. That’s a little bomb they leave ticking inside you,” Roper explained. “The idea that there’s bound to be a next time, and that next time you’ll fail. And if you had failed - you’re a human being, not a machine. There are limits to what anyone can take - to what the body can take. It’s your body that reaches the limit, not you. They’ve set you up for a next time when the odds are very small there will be a next time. Thinking the worst that can happen will happen doesn’t help anything, and it isn’t necessarily true. You have to believe in yourself, which can be tough when you wonder if anyone else does. You did great,” Roper insisted. “And the rest of us know it if you don’t yet. Really.”

Giles sighed. He’d curled up into himself at one end of the sofa. A part of him could acknowledge that what Roper was saying was true. But he felt…isolated. Adrift. And he didn’t know why. He felt Roper studying him. He shivered.

“I know what you need - what I needed, after. Something no one can do at first because you’re injured. And then later people think you don’t need it or don’t want it. And maybe on the most obvious level you’d say no, you’d feel odd, too needy; not a man - all those things that say a man shouldn’t need that kind of reassurance. But you do. You do,” Roper sighed, his mind momentarily in the past.

He slid closer, and silently drew Giles to him, his arm drawing Giles’s head down to his lap. “ ‘s okay, put your feet up. Relax,” he coaxed. “Close your eyes.” Giles obeyed hesitantly, his body tense. “Aw no, that’s no good.”

Roper’s hand rested on his head, half-stroking, half lightly rubbing. The hand caressed his scalp softly for a while, then moved lower to work the stiff muscles at the base of his skull. It felt so good so quickly that Giles let his mouth fall open in pleasure, groaning aloud. The power of touch had been missing. Roper was right, he did need this.

Roper’s hands worked slowly across the tops of his shoulders, then one hand smoothed leisurely circles over his shoulder and onto his back. Gradually, the hand slipped beneath his sweatshirt, moving gently over his back, eventually coming to rest on his stomach, the warmth of his palm acting like a small heating pad.

Giles didn’t, couldn’t, think about anything while this was happening. He wasn’t going to waste one precious second on anything but feeling. A sense of peace crept over him. He lost track of time, but eventually realized he couldn’t expect Roper to stay where he was all night.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the darkness of the living room.

“You’re welcome.” Roper’s voice was as low and quiet, as soothing, as his hands. “I hope you’ll sleep tonight.”

“Me too,” Giles sighed, rising slowly.

“I’ll be back in a couple of days, but you call me if you need to - even in the middle of the night,” Roper told him.

He left Giles with a gentle hug at the door. Giles walked into the bedroom, got into bed and turned out the lights. The endorphins Roper had turned loose won the evening; he slept soundly for most of the night.

He tried to keep himself - physically and his mind as well - busy most of the day. But by mid afternoon whatever dark thoughts which had been circling started to come home to roost. He tried to do what Roper suggested and was partly successful, but only partly. Sorting out something as complicated as this took a lot of work, and Giles was rather frustrated with the herculean efforts he was being required to make, between his injuries and his state of mind. He was exhausted with it all, yet afraid to sleep. He watched television into the wee hours just to have the comfort of noise.

His injuries were now in the last stage of healing and making him crazy. He didn’t think there was a place on his body that wasn’t itching insanely. It didn’t matter whether he had clothes on or not, and a shower made no difference either. He felt like one great itch.

When Roper arrived, he silently took note of Giles’s twitches and contortions, remembering his own bout with them. It went on through dinner, and Roper finally took pity on him.

“D’you want me to help you with that itching?” he asked with a bit of a smile.

“Yesss,” Giles hissed, a bit crabby.

“Do you have a soft hair brush, or some other kind of soft brush?”

“Yes, my hair brush is fairly soft I suppose.”

“Okay - get most of your kit off and go lie down on your bed. Get the brush, and I suppose they gave you some vitamin E oil for scarring? Get that too,” Roper directed. “And take an allergy tablet if you have one.”

“An allergy tablet?”

“Lots of little histamines runnin’ around in your body,” Roper explained.

Giles did as he was bidden, desperate for relief.

Avoiding his still-tender, non-scabbed nose, Roper scrubbed the hairbrush gently over Giles’s face, and systematically over his chest, arms, belly and legs, loosening and brushing away all the debris from his wounds that was ready to come off, but not brushing so hard that still-healing tissue was torn loose. Giles then turned over and Roper did the same to his back. When he was finished - Giles’s pleas for him to scratch harder having fallen on deaf ears - Roper poured some of the vitamin E oil into his hand. He carefully dabbed it on and around every healing mark on Giles’s body, front and back, rubbing it in gently. Giles was in heaven for as long as it lasted.

“But…” When he was finished and he’d brought in the brandy Giles had suggested, Roper spoke the word and let it hang. Giles, propped up against the headboard, sighed and deliberately banged his head against it hard enough to demonstrate his mood.

“Thinking again,” Roper continued, leading him on.

“I can’t stop it.”

“Good. You shouldn’t stop it. You should put it all out there on the table. Kick it around, dissect it. Defeat it,” Roper advised.

“It’s…difficult,” Giles whispered.

“It’s not something that’s ever happened to you before. It’s not talked about because it makes people uncomfortable. But not me, Mr Vicary. Not me.”

“I know it’s against the rules, but - I shouldn’t be ‘Mister’, not now - I can’t,” Giles sighed. “My name is Giles.”

“You can tell me, Giles,” Roper responded quietly. From the beginning of their team-up, Roper’s voice had always had the capacity to calm him in any situation they found themselves in. He could rely on Roper to be honest with him, tell it like it was with no BS and no politics. He trusted Roper more than anyone in his unit. Certainly more than an Army psychologist.

“Been thinking about…how I felt, under…”

“Torture. That’s what it was.”

“The first…one, he just wanted to know if we had the Intelligence and manpower to stop them. He didn’t really want to hurt me. He kept looking at me, begging me with his eyes to tell him.” Giles swallowed. “The other two…they meant business. They wanted to know every detail - who, how many, when. When one got tired, the other one would start in. After the first few blows, I think…I think my mind and my body sort of went numb. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. But when - when they believed, I suppose, that I wasn’t going to tell them, they just…did what they did, because they wanted to. They wanted to hurt me. To kill me,” Giles groaned.

Roper put an arm around him, squeezing him gently. “And you were powerless. There wasn’t any way to defend yourself. No fighting chance.”

“No.” There were tears in Giles’s voice. “I didn’t want to die that way, as their helpless plaything. Like a wounded mouse between two cats. And I was so scared. I was terrified I wouldn’t - that I would lose control of both my body and my mind,” he admitted. “That I would leave the world lying in my own vomit and-“

“But you didn’t,” Roper reminded him. “And if you had, it wouldn’t have been any fault in you. What you’re feeling is what anyone would feel. We just have to understand that they want us to doubt ourselves, and we shouldn’t give them that. If we believe it, they’ve won. You’ve come so far, Giles - don’t let them have you. Fight back,” Roper encouraged, stroking his hair.

Giles was quiet for a long while. He sighed audibly and allowed himself to relax in Roper’s arms.

“Thanks,” he whispered. He realized he felt a bit lighter. He’d said it all, to someone who’d been through it, and they understood - could read his mind, almost. It was the sort of scenario he’d always had a horror of - dealing with someone who knew what he was thinking. He’d imagined betrayal and shame. Now that it was reality, he found instead it gave him peace and comfort.

“It’ll be all right,” Roper murmured. He pressed his lips to Giles’s forehead, and in a slow heartbeat, very softly to his lips.

Giles froze. Where had that come from? Had it been there all along? Is that what this had all been about?

“Why did you do that?” he asked. Roper let him go - almost pushed him away - immediately.

“Shite. I’m sorry, Mr Vicary, sir. Giles. I’m sorry. Shite,” Roper groaned. Giles saw both mortification and confusion in his eyes, but nothing else; no subterfuge, certainly.

“Staff - Phil - I didn’t say I was upset by what you did. I didn’t say I didn’t want you to do it. I’m not angry, I’m puzzled. I just want to know - _need_ to know why, what motivated you to kiss me with a…different emotion behind it…than previously, when you meant to comfort me. Will you be as honest with me as I’ve been with you?” Giles had chosen his words carefully, hoping he wouldn’t frighten Roper away.

Roper’s gaze lost some of its fear. “I’ll try. Sir,” he swallowed nervously.

“When Burns put us together after Sar’ McDonough left, you know I resented you not being her, and my head was completely bolluxed up. But I thought I should give you a chance. Everyone deserves a chance.

“And…you surprised me. You’re smart, and quick, and you’ve worked hard to learn. No one has to tell you something twice. I respected that. But what surprised me more is that..I came to like you.” Roper’s eyes dropped. “You’re funny and kind, and generous. You’re not out to cut anyone’s throat. You don’t try to undermine anyone. You’re a good person - someone I could both like and respect. Sometimes, I thought about what you’d think if I said or did something, and it kept me from making an arse of myself. You kept me on the straight and narrow without knowing it,” he shook his head with a little laugh.

“You think I’ve helped you, but you don’t understand that you’ve helped me too. I would have gone off the rails if it hadn’t been for you - teaching you, having you around so much. When the undercover op went down and went bad, I was afraid for you. I was just so glad you made it. Whatever’s happened since, it’s because I only wanted you to be okay.”

“Until - “ Giles coaxed. Roper sighed hopelessly.

“I’m not straight, exactly. I’ve been attracted to men before. Not a lot, but I have. And acted on it. I don’t know when I started to feel…more for you. I swear, I don’t, until - what just happened. I was almost as surprised as you. I suddenly wondered what it might be like to…really kiss you,” he shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s an unforgivable presumption. I just…I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Giles looked at him for a moment. He reached out and turned Roper’s face to look at him.

“Did you know, or did you think, that I might be gay?” he asked softly. Roper’s eyes widened.

“No. No, sir, I didn’t. I don’t. I never thought… Wished maybe, but believed it, thought it? No. You think I only kissed you because I thought maybe… _no_ ,” he responded vehemently. “No.”

Giles took a small amount of pity on him. Unless Roper was a very good actor, he was telling the truth. Which left Giles with his own feelings to decipher. He hadn’t thought of Roper in a sexual way because he was very aware - the entire unit was aware - of Roper’s marital drama and his affair with Jo. The last thing he needed was any such involvement with anyone in his unit. Giles had also thought of Roper as a mentor, an older brother. In hindsight, though, he realized that he might have been open to the idea if all obstacles were removed.

“Would you still like to find out?” Giles asked.

“Sir?”

“What it would be like to kiss me. Without saying ‘sir’ again,” Giles offered.

Cautiously, Roper inched closer to him. Giles reached out and touched his hair, putting a wayward curl back into place. Roper’s lips were soft and cool. They neither teased nor sought entry until permission was given, but they warmed with mutual contact and open assurance of welcome.

Giles was surprised at how quickly his libido, which had been non-existent for weeks, was suddenly rising like a phoenix. He found himself not only returning Roper’s kisses but ineffectively pulling at Roper’s clothing until he stripped off. He slipped out of his briefs and their bodies came together with a quiet urgency, Roper trying gently to keep Giles from hurting himself in his initial eagerness.

He need not have worried, however. Their kisses quickly morphed into slow and soft, and hands exploring each other tenderly rather than feverishly. There was no less need, but it was not the sort of need that either of them had expected. When the time came that they pleasured each other, it was with the understanding that what they felt for each other - caring, friendship, loyalty, gratitude, even love - was not passion.

It was a happy relief. None of the feelings they had for and about each other had gone away or changed; who they were hadn’t changed. They could still be together just like this if one of them should need the other. Removing lust from the equation didn’t mean they didn’t still care in the way that mattered most to both of them. None of this required words, they understood it perfectly.

Giles stirred eventually. “You are staying?” he asked softly.

“You want me to, after all-“

“Of course I do.”

Roper kissed the side of his face, nuzzling his neck. “No nightmares tonight.”

“No. They wouldn’t dare,” Giles agreed, more than ready to sleep the night through and feeling comfortable and secure in Roper’s embrace.

  
                                                                             ***

Giles was becoming stronger physically by the day. He was due back to work. His body was, if not 100%, at least functioning at 80%. He had his periods of depression and doubt. Fear had not entirely left him, but when he needed feedback he knew Roper was there, that Roper would have his back. It was all he needed for now.

He pulled into the car park, surprised to see considerable activity in the adjacent small parade ground. When he walked into the SIB building he was greeted by everyone with smiles, handshakes, claps on the back, and a kiss on the cheek from Angie. There was a large ‘Welcome Back’ banner over his desk. He would have been more than content if this was indeed his welcome back to work, but shortly after the fuss over his arrival had died down, Sar’ Major Burns called him into his office. Captain Howard was there, an unknown Major - and his father.

He was to receive the Queen’s Commendation for Valuable Service. Major Beck was the commander of the units which housed the stolen arms and munitions. It would have been some of his men lost as well as the SIB team if their trap hadn’t been successful. His father was to present him with the commendation. On the parade ground. In an hour. Roper had spirited his dress uniform out of his flat, and his father would help him dress.

Giles was speechless. He vaguely remembered hearing the possible commendation mentioned, but with everything else going on he’d forgotten about it. All that fuss outside was for him. They’d kept it a secret from him, even Roper.

Alone in the makeshift dressing room with his father, Giles hardly knew what to say. His father, however, did. He pulled Giles into his arms in a gentle bear hug, holding him close for a long moment.

“Well done, Mister Vicary,” he announced in Giles’s ear. “I’m very proud of you son.” Giles hugged him back, reluctant to let go.

“Thank you, sir. Dad,” he followed with a smile.

“All right, snap to, Leftenant. We’ve only got a few minutes to get you dressed and out there,” his father prodded cheerfully.

It all seemed like a dream from that point on, as if he was watching a film. There was, for their little corner of Hohenbrück, quite a crowd of fellow red caps and others. Thomas Strauss and some German police dignitaries. His mother, sister and brother were there. It seemed so long since they’d been together, he was suddenly less interested in the ceremony than he was in seeing them.

He sat and listened to the commendation read out, with a description of the actions he’d taken and the physical harm he’d suffered, preventing the transfer of a considerable amount of arms and munitions into the hands of terrorists and saving the lives of those involved in the operation to stop them. He was applauded. He heard quite a few whistles from the red caps and knew most of them would be coming from Hornsby. Major Beck spoke about the seriousness of the operation and the importance of stopping it. His father then giving him the commendation, pinning it on his uniform, shining with pride.

Afterwards, his mother crying and hugging him, and his brother and sister having to be reminded not to hug him too enthusiastically. He thought he might burst with happiness. He looked around for Roper, but he was staying out of sight while Giles was surrounded by family and superior officers. Roper being there for him had made all the difference - had let him be happy enough to enjoy this day. Because of Roper, he had indeed not let the terrorists win.

“Why are you crying now?” he asked his mother, shaking his head with a fond smile. “I’m fine and I just received a commendation.”

“Because just before we arrived, your father showed me a photo of you in hospital,” she told him. Giles frowned.

“Oh Mum, he shouldn’t have done that,” he groaned.

“He was right to show me, Gy. So I could understand what happened to you, why you deserve this commendation, and why he’s so proud of you. I am however glad that he waited until a few hours ago, knowing I would see your recovery with my own eyes. Your bravery in the face of - well, I’d better not go there or you’ll have to put up with me crying again. But for some happier news - “ She held up her left hand, and Giles was overjoyed to see a wedding band on her ring finger.

“Mum! Wow. That’s great!” The thought that he might have had anything to do with it made him happier than receiving a dozen commendations.

He would finish out the rest of his ‘work’ day in the office, and the family would have dinner all together in Berlin that evening. It was an amazing first day back to work. He managed to hunt Roper down before he left.

“I wish you had stayed around. I wanted you there,” Giles told him.

“Thanks. But it needed to be your day, with your family. The way it should be.”

“Family and _friends_ ,” Giles insisted. “I wouldn’t have been able to get through this day if it wasn’t for you. If no one else knows that, I do.”

“Like I told you, it’s mutual. I wouldn’t still be here without you,” Roper smiled. “Now go on and have a great time. Enjoy your family while they’re here.”

New beginnings, Giles mused. Starting over, starting fresh, being forced into new experiences that stretched you. It wasn’t all good, and sometimes came with a lot of pain, but It was still what life was all about.

**Author's Note:**

> Giles’s ‘disappointed in me’ relationship with his father is canon. What I chose to do with it, and the rest of his family, is mine. I don’t know if this commendation would actually be given under these specific circumstances, but his actions fit the online commendation criteria on the surface/in the realm of possibility. Researched as best I could.


End file.
